Secrets of My Hollywood Life: There’s No Place Like Home

BOOK: Secrets of My Hollywood Life: There’s No Place Like Home
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For Cindy Eagan, Kate Sullivan, and Laura Dail
(or, as I like to think of them the Tin Man, the Scarecrow,
and the [not so] Cowardly Lion).

I couldn’t have followed the yellow-brick road
without the three of you.

“This is take fourteen, scene six. And action!”

Suddenly I feel wind on my face and my curly, caramel-hued hair starts whipping around like I’m in a tornado. I’m holding
on to the railing of what is supposed to be a huge ocean liner, with the sun dipping into the sea behind me. Call it movie
magic—I’m actually standing at a fiberglass replica of a ship’s bow with a green screen behind me that will be filled in with
that glorious sunset later. There is a large group of beautiful, well-dressed “passengers” milling about around me, along
with a terrific violinist and the ship’s waitstaff, who are handing out drinks and hors d’oeuvres.

The scene is meant to look the picture of bliss, and I know I feel that way. How could I not? I get paid beaucoup bucks for
a thirty-second commercial, I’m back home in Los Angeles after my summer on Broadway in New York, and I get to look this nice
for work. I’m wearing a green satin floor-length Max Azria dress that is the exact color of my eyes with killer black tribal-beaded
Jimmy Choo sandals, and my makeup is all dewy and sparkles. If that’s not bliss, I don’t know what is. The sound crew re-creates
the ship horn, and I smile and put my arm around Sky Mackenzie, my longtime costar and sort of newish good friend. It’s a
big breakthrough for us. We used to want to strangle each other.

“Beautiful, girls,” our director, Preston Hartlet, coos, giving feedback via megaphone. “This is the take! I can feel it.
Show me the love.”

Sky stiffly hugs me back—hugging is not usually part of her repertoire—and then it happens. The whole scene falls apart. Again.

When we hug on cue, the extras around us stop their anonymous mingling and start clapping madly as if the two of us have found a way to create peace in the Middle East. Of course, I start
to giggle, which makes Sky start to giggle. This has happened every take. Preston winds up calling “Cut” and we have to start
all over again. I feel terrible, but as soon as the extras start the applause, we lose it! Why would our hugging make everyone
clap? We asked Preston this, but he just shrugged and said it’s what Takamodo Cruise Lines, the Japanese company we are making
this commercial for, wants. I guess since Takamodo is paying, it’s their call, but the gesture makes me crack up. I can’t
help it!

On this take, Sky’s brown eyes lock on mine like a bullet, willing me to stop the giggles, and it actually works. We instantly
compose ourselves. I silently order my funny bone that there will be no take sixteen. The sound crew pumps in a melodramatic
instrumental as the shot pulls away from the ship. After ten seconds, Sky and I say our one line: “Takamodo Cruise Lines.
Tranquility is a cruise away.”

“EXCELLENT!” Preston yells exuberantly and pulls on his goatee. “Let’s set up the final close-up!”

“Yes!” Sky screams and pulls her hand back from where it was resting around my waist. “God, I love commercials!”

“Me too,” I agree, slipping my right foot out of my shoe to give it a little breather. (Gorgeous shoes, but they’re pinching
my toes.) “This is like making a mini movie in half a day.”

“True, but that’s not why I like making commercials,” Sky says and dances around on her gold, crystal-encrusted Gucci stilettos.
“A commercial is like getting a year’s salary in four hours! And these dresses are killer.” She looks at the digital clock
hanging above the soundstage exit doors. It’s only one PM. “We should be out of here in an hour, and then we’ve got to go
somewhere good. We cannot waste these outfits or makeup.” She twirls around in her John Galliano, the beaded salmon skirt
fanning out like an umbrella.

I stifle a laugh. “Where exactly could we wear these dresses for lunch without looking ridiculous? They’re sort of red carpet
material.”

“I want to go someplace fun!” Sky pouts. “I just made easy money and got a free dress, and we have nowhere to go?”

“Would you keep your voice down?” I hush her. “I don’t want the Takamodo people to hear you. They’ll think we’re being rude.”
I look over at the Japanese executives who have been watching the shoot. I give a little wave and Sky grabs my hand, her chunky,
gold bangle cold against my wrist.

“K, you’re such a kissbutt. All Takamodo cares about are our gorgeous mugs…” She pauses. “
My
gorgeous mug and your decent mug.” I swat her arm and see a small smile starting to spread across her lips. “Fine. All Takamodo
cares about is that
our
gorgeous mugs are hawking their ship. That’s all they want. I can say whatever else I please.” She looks away, but I see
her side-eye me. Sky knows when she’s wrong.

“You could at least try to be friendly,” I scold playfully. “You missed the breakfast they had for us this morning, and you
haven’t said hi yet. Now, they’re heading our way. If you want that free press trip to Tokyo this hiatus, then be nice! Just
say sorry about breakfast, and make some small talk. Think of your Galliano! Now you have something to wear to the Save the
San Marino Sea Lions black-tie dinner this weekend.”

Sky twirls her black hair around her finger. “I guess. Okay. I’ll apologize for the breakfast snafu.” She gives me an appraising
look. “You’re always thinking of others, K. God, I wish I could pretend to be like that.” I hold my tongue as Sky plays with
her gold bracelet, sliding it up and down her toned, tan arm. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but some people think I have
a sensitivity chip missing.”

My lip starts to quiver. “You? Never!” I burst out laughing and Sky nudges me again, but she’s laughing too. It feels so good
to have this sort of relationship with Sky after all those years of backstabbing and jealousy on
Family Affair
(or as we called it,
FA
), the long-running, popular TV show we starred on together from the time we were preschoolers up until a year ago.

“Watch me be like you, K,” Sky whispers and starts shaking her raven hair like she’s doing an ad for Pantene. No fair, I do
not
hair shimmy! Sky smiles at the incoming executives from across the set and bows her head at them while she talks out of the
side of her mouth to me. “Namaste, right?”

“Sky,” I groan. “That’s Hindi!”

“So?” Sky clucks her tongue at me. “Big dif .”

“They’re Japanese,” I remind her. “This isn’t yoga fusion at the gym!” I think fast. “Make nice so we can film our last shot
and get you to the SunSmart Smoothie Beach House for freebies. The publicist said the house is only open till seven.”

Sky slaps my airbrush-tanned arm excitedly. “I forgot about the SunSmart House! I can’t miss those Theory leggings, but we
need to eat first. I’m craving steak from Boa. I’ve eaten at crafty all week, and the sugar is killing me.” She pats her tiny
stomach. “Fine, I’ll say hi quickly and then�� we can do our last take and be off. ” Sky bats her dark brown eyes and opens
her perfectly plump lips (they aren’t real), which have been puckered in a wine-colored gloss. Then she freezes. “How do I
say ‘I’m sorry’ again?”

I sigh. Our agents taught us several Japanese phrases to say to the executives who flew in for the Takamodo Cruise Lines shoot
today. Things like
Oaidekite Koei desu.
(“It’s a pleasure to meet you!”) And
Kohi demo ikaga desuka?
(“Would you like a cup of coffee?”) And
Anata no fuku nante suteki!
(I’m not sure I need to know “What a gorgeous dress you’re wearing!” in Japanese, but it sure sounds cool.
Anata no fuku nante suteki!
I may start saying that all the time.)

My agent, Seth Meyers (no relation to the
SNL
comedian), says doing a Japanese commercial is like eating a tub of Sprinkles Cupcakes frosting—a pure treat. And he’s right.
My treat to you is that this is the first of many new HOLLYWOOD SECRETS I’m willing to share.

HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER ONE: Doing Japanese commercials is a no-brainer. Even if your star wattage is too bright to be seen
hawking hair gel or cars on American TV (which some ego-crazed celebs really believe is beneath them), you’d be a fool not
to do a commercial in Japan. The payoff is huge—and I don’t mean just monetary, even though, well, yeah, that’s the best part
(think upward of a cool million). American stars are a big deal in Japan, so companies there pay through the roof for Hollywood
royalty to shoot a thirty-second spot. Everyone from Tom Cruise to Anne Hathaway to Britney Spears has shot Japanese commercials,
and it’s easy to see why. The shoot is usually short (half a day), and you don’t have to leave Los Angeles to do it. You don’t
even have to learn Japanese! Most of their celebrity-featured commercials use stars’ real voices and American music. Japanese
writing or a Japanese voice-over explains what the commercial is about if it’s not simple enough to make sense on its own.
Our Takamodo commercial, touting their newest luxury liner, speaks for itself. Of course, you don’t want to do anything
too
crazy, or your ad will become a laughingstock on American YouTube, like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s.

“Goman nasi,” I say slowly to Sky.

“GO-MAN NAH-SAY,” Sky tries to enunciate, and I can’t help but giggle. I don’t sound great either, but Sky sounds terrible.

“Never mind,” I say quickly as the executives approach. “Just say your line. They’ve been begging you to do it all day.”

Sky groans. “K! Nooo! I don’t do it anymore. That phrase ended when
Family Affair
went off the air. It’s too embarrassing. Do you know how many people stop me on the street and ask me to say it over and OVER?”

“I know, but it will go over huge,” I insist, knowing the clock is ticking. The executives are so close they can hear us.
I just don’t know if they understand English. “Just say it one time in Japanese. Please? I know you learned how to do it for
that Japanese
Family Affairs
press tour a few years back.” She shrugs and I know I’m losing her. It’s time to change tactics. “You’re an incredible actress,
Sky. I’m sure if you say the line in Japanese, they’ll forget all about the fact that you missed eggs Benedict and they’ll
start thinking: What can we cast Sky Mackenzie in next?”

Sky’s eyes widen at the thought of dollar signs. “I never thought of that, K.” She takes a deep breath, and then her whole
face relaxes into a bright, beautiful grin just as the executives reach us. I have to hand it to Sky. When it needs to be
turned on, she can turn it on. “Onnanoko niwa Onnanoko no jijo ga aruno,” she says, which means “A girl’s got to do what a
girl’s got to do.” It was the signature catchphrase of Sky’s conniving character, Sara, on
FA
. My goody-two-shoes character, Samantha, didn’t really have one. She just said, “That’s so sweet!” A lot. She was kind of
vanilla.

The Japanese executives stop short and look a little confused—Sky’s version probably doesn’t sound exactly like the translation
should—but they must get the idea because they applaud. Sky is so pleased she actually curtsies and then starts to bow. I
yank her away before she does anything she regrets. Like talk about her paycheck again.

I’m sure a lot of people are wondering why anyone in Japan cares about Sky and me. Well, it turns out our beloved former TV
show—which is where Sky and I met, brawled, became frenemies, and then finally became friends post-show this past summer in
New York—is syndicated there, and the ratings are HUGE. Apparently Sky and I are a bigger deal there than Richard Gere. (I
know, I know—who? The Japanese love him. He was huge here a while back when he did all these rom-coms like
Pretty Woman
, which is a classic you
so
must watch if you’ve never seen it.)

“Sky? Kaitlin?” Our director, Preston, is standing by, waiting for us. His silver Ray-Ban aviators are nestled in his heavily
gelled brown hair, and his tan arm ripples with muscles as he runs a hand through his stiff locks. You can totally tell Preston
was good-looking back in the day. He is in his fifties, and while he used to make major explosion, kidnapping–type action flicks, now he sticks to Japanese commercials. He’s apparently in high demand. “Think we can get this close-up
done in less than five takes? I pride myself in always coming in under budget for commercial shoots. It’s not all about spending
money, you know.” His brown eyes look at us intently.

Oh God. He heard Sky’s crack about money, didn’t he?

I glance back at the crowded set. The lighting guys, boom operator, production assistants, and harried hair and makeup people
are scurrying around, retouching, relighting, and setting up the shot again. The catering crew is restocking the table with
bagels, cold cuts, salads, cereal, and assorted fruit and candy (you can’t have a catering table without gummy worms in my
book). Beyond them I can see my own crew—my assistant, Nadine, and my dad, who came to watch the action and try to, um, make
some connections. (He’s a producer who is in between gigs right now. He hasn’t worked in over a year, actually. At the moment
his full-time job seems to be golfing and talking about cars, or lately, boats.)

Sometimes I forget how many people it takes to make just one little actor look good. Suddenly I feel guilty about my onset
of giggles. The last thing I want is for Preston to think I’m some overindulged teen actress who has no clue how the business
works. I love acting, and sometimes it’s easy to forget how grateful I should be for every opportunity I get, and I get a
lot of them.

I give Preston my best smile and the friendliest face I can muster, hoping I look all earnest and hopeful and sweet, like
my old
FA
character. “Preston, we feel terrible about before.” I nudge Sky, who is busy scrutinizing her Galliano again to see if I’ve
dislodged one of the thousands of beads on her one-of-a-kind skirt. “I’m sorry it took us so long to do that shot. This next
one will be quick, I promise, and exactly what you’re looking for.”

Preston smiles and looks at Sky for further clarification. It’s hard to tell if he’s okay or annoyed in this lighting. The
set is so brightly lit that the behind-the-scenes area seems really dark, just like Preston’s wardrobe (worn navy tee and
dark denim jeans, the director’s attire of choice). I nudge Sky, hoping she can think of something that will win Preston over.

BOOK: Secrets of My Hollywood Life: There’s No Place Like Home
4.72Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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